I'm still here, honest! There have been various prods for more from me and I have found myself in the conflictual grip of feeling guilty about not writing and then feeling guilty because I am writing, as I am right now, when there are simply so many things that need to get done. I am aware that the predictable, comfortable rhythm of my life has been lost and replaced by a meter that is floundering to find a steady beat....
I have spent the morning trying to figure out our healthcare choices here. Our insurance, while very generous with benefits, is limiting quite a bit the number of choices of physicians we have. I still don't have a doctor. Part of me has been avoiding dealing with this because the thought of starting over again with someone new simply makes me want to cry, quite literally! When you have a chronic disease you see a lot of your doctor and that bond can be quite an intense one. To have to tell my story all over again? Sure, I have a HUGE envelope of medical records from both my primary care doctor and my pulmonologist in Denver, I have CDs and CDs of various imaging studies done over the last several years: x-rays, CT scans, MRIs, but I've been in this long enough to know that as soon as I walk in that door it will be up to me to verbally convince this new physician of the kind of care that I need. And how long will it take he/she to know me, know the type of patient that I am? My doctor in Denver told me that it was so important to find a doctor that wouldn't underreact or overreact to my disease. How long will it take me to trust that I have found that person? How will I know? Today, I am overwhelmed by these questions.
I managed to get MaeMae in to see a doctor this afternoon. She has been tired and under the weather and I found a tick in her scalp not long after she got here. When I called to register her as a new patient and request a general physical to satisfy school requirements I mentioned the tick in passing and they wanted her to come in right away. Really, she has moved across the country, started at a new school, had a nasty upper repiratory virus last week and a tick bite....it could be any number of factors contributing to her symptoms. But it will be good to at least make contact with the children's physician and start building a relationship there.
And at the risk of sounding totally boring, I'm really tired. Disease activity? Life circumstances? Who knows. Honestly, I think you'd be tired too!
"Well, you will never run a marathon." Etty suffers from ongoing Sarcoidosis which is a chronic inflammatory disease that primarily involves the lungs. Niamh, her sister, likes to run and is going to run the Cork City Marathon on June 6th to raise funds for those suffering from chronic lung diseases. This blog will be a parallel account of their trials and tribulations in the coming months: the would-be marathoner; the mother-of-three moving home and struggling with serious, ongoing Sarcoidosis.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Today's Run and Holiday Reading
TODAY'S RUN ... quickly
I have settled. The jitters and spiky, uneven energy of the last few days have moved on. I did my 7mile run (11.3km) this morning at a pace of 06:16minutes per km, yesterday's was 06:46. Today I had a moment of insight. Something that has been said to me in earlier weeks by Madeleine and, in a way, by Uncle John in yesterday's post, came home to roost. Respect the distance. The programme has been going so well, which is largely determined by luck because a cold or injury could upset that very easily, that I may not have fully appreciated the task on hand. The miles throughout the week have now increased to a point that challenges. I have a tendency to be all enthusiasm and into projects before I realise all that is involved. Enthusiasm is good, but it needs to be chanelled. In the workplace, I like to work on projects with people who are more measured and attentive to the detail than I sometimes see. Determination is essential, but not enough. Care, pacing and measure are equally important. Respect the distance. I'm back where I need to be.
HOLIDAY READING
I just want to share this, but not everyone may be interested and it's a bit long, so I will flag the change in topic. I put this together last evening. My holiday reading was odd and worth sharing only because it is interesting to see how a new project can open up new avenues of interest. An example, I know that one of the Irish Soccer Team players has an injured achilles at the moment. Normally, the Sports news just goes right over my head! I sympathise with the Achilles guy. See ... even his name escapes me. And, I should check that it is the Soccer Team ... oh dear. The change in interest is clearly limited.
While away, I came across a copy of Bill Strickland's Tour de Lance, which details Lance Armstrong's attempts to win again the Tour de France. I vaguely knew the Armstrong story and I have not read many biographies, at least not many contemporary ones. I wouldn't really recommend the book, but it was oddly compelling. First of all, Armstrong ran at least 2 marathons in competitive times of 2 and half hours or thereabouts. I was won over on that alone! He did it primarily for training purposes, but possibly also for his Livestrong campaign. Other details were equally fascinating Constant training has restructured the muscles in Lance's lower legs so that a single muscle (usually) has split in two, making his legs more efficient in pedalling. You read of the different cycling styles, invisible to my inexperienced eye, expressing something of the cyclists' personality. Contador was Armstrong's main rival and a much sleeker performer all round, it seems, and equally cool and distant in person. Armstrong himself seems to be something of a blunt instrument, all gritty steel, endurance and determination. You sense Strickland's favour of Armstrong, so have to be careful with this. Gossipy details about Armstrong, that I didn't know before, were mildly interesting such as he dated Kate Hudson. Matthew Connaughton frequently trains with him. Then, of course, lurking at the background are questions about his doping, with the world being divided into the 'he did' or 'didn't' camps. It makes me think about simple things too like weight. And no, I do not consider myself overweight and have no intention of deliberately losing weight right now, but these guys strip away as much spare flesh as they possibly can while keeping the balance right in terms of muscle and power. Think about it, I could lose a half stone and still not be overly skinny; I suspect most people wouldn't even notice, but a half stone is the same as carrying 4 bags of sugar. It's a thought. I learn something about the workings of teams, the fact that riders on a team frequently work as 'domestiques' carrying water or handing over their bikes at the expense of their own race if the team leader requires it. I enjoy the book for the celebration of sport and, almost, the madness and intensity of it, the joy of working singlemindedly to attain such a feat, the pleasure of training over long distances and shaping the body so that it can perform on demand. It reinforces my own belief that it is the slogging weeks that make all the difference. The final chapter offers some reflections on the meditative qualities of long distance training when combined with the need to balance, make split decisions as is required in cycling. Studies have shown that the brain changes are comparable to monks meditating. I loved best of all, the descriptions of some of the races, particularly the more arduous hill climbs, in which Strickland is good at capturing the effort that goes into the event. He recognises the demands made, and enthusiasm required, in those who are there just to finish. Something in these moments touch a chord in my own spirit. Consequently, I have found myself since looking out for fictional or autobiographical books on distance running and have managed to order a few. There are quite a number out there, more on that anon. Who knows where this might lead?
The second book I read was inspired by the recent drive accross America. We all have classics that have eluded us, guilty secrets if you like. I'm talking about novels that we know about, are cultural reference points, even if we never actually read them. For some time, I had intended to read Jack Kerouac's On the Road, a 1950s novel about the beat generation, seeking authenticity, back to roots, a reaction to WW II, the atom bomb and so on. It is a strange book, not compelling by plot, but the seeking, pilgrimage, angst tone gets to you. The vulnerability and madness is apparent. It evokes the chaos of the period, drug-fuelled and so on. You can also see how it inspired the road movies such as Thelma and Louise, probably seminal to that genre, but I am not overly confident of that fact (and am not going to pause to check). I am intrigued by connections to much, much earlier texts and wonder are these just images and icons that have been unconsciously absorbed through generations or is this guy self-consciously using them? Music is everywhere in the novel, used to key significant moments. I presume this has been studied to death by now. I was glad to read it. And Etty, you need to take a bow. Your writing inspired me to read something else. Now, I consider that a result!
Just for interest sake, my current novel is William Boyd's Armadillo, recommended to me by a colleague. It's a great read with a plot that lures but it's stylish too.
That's it folks. I have a date with a fourteenth-century poet ... and, now that I think about it, another with a twenty-first century poet on Saturday evening (nod to Dad).
I have settled. The jitters and spiky, uneven energy of the last few days have moved on. I did my 7mile run (11.3km) this morning at a pace of 06:16minutes per km, yesterday's was 06:46. Today I had a moment of insight. Something that has been said to me in earlier weeks by Madeleine and, in a way, by Uncle John in yesterday's post, came home to roost. Respect the distance. The programme has been going so well, which is largely determined by luck because a cold or injury could upset that very easily, that I may not have fully appreciated the task on hand. The miles throughout the week have now increased to a point that challenges. I have a tendency to be all enthusiasm and into projects before I realise all that is involved. Enthusiasm is good, but it needs to be chanelled. In the workplace, I like to work on projects with people who are more measured and attentive to the detail than I sometimes see. Determination is essential, but not enough. Care, pacing and measure are equally important. Respect the distance. I'm back where I need to be.
HOLIDAY READING
I just want to share this, but not everyone may be interested and it's a bit long, so I will flag the change in topic. I put this together last evening. My holiday reading was odd and worth sharing only because it is interesting to see how a new project can open up new avenues of interest. An example, I know that one of the Irish Soccer Team players has an injured achilles at the moment. Normally, the Sports news just goes right over my head! I sympathise with the Achilles guy. See ... even his name escapes me. And, I should check that it is the Soccer Team ... oh dear. The change in interest is clearly limited.
While away, I came across a copy of Bill Strickland's Tour de Lance, which details Lance Armstrong's attempts to win again the Tour de France. I vaguely knew the Armstrong story and I have not read many biographies, at least not many contemporary ones. I wouldn't really recommend the book, but it was oddly compelling. First of all, Armstrong ran at least 2 marathons in competitive times of 2 and half hours or thereabouts. I was won over on that alone! He did it primarily for training purposes, but possibly also for his Livestrong campaign. Other details were equally fascinating Constant training has restructured the muscles in Lance's lower legs so that a single muscle (usually) has split in two, making his legs more efficient in pedalling. You read of the different cycling styles, invisible to my inexperienced eye, expressing something of the cyclists' personality. Contador was Armstrong's main rival and a much sleeker performer all round, it seems, and equally cool and distant in person. Armstrong himself seems to be something of a blunt instrument, all gritty steel, endurance and determination. You sense Strickland's favour of Armstrong, so have to be careful with this. Gossipy details about Armstrong, that I didn't know before, were mildly interesting such as he dated Kate Hudson. Matthew Connaughton frequently trains with him. Then, of course, lurking at the background are questions about his doping, with the world being divided into the 'he did' or 'didn't' camps. It makes me think about simple things too like weight. And no, I do not consider myself overweight and have no intention of deliberately losing weight right now, but these guys strip away as much spare flesh as they possibly can while keeping the balance right in terms of muscle and power. Think about it, I could lose a half stone and still not be overly skinny; I suspect most people wouldn't even notice, but a half stone is the same as carrying 4 bags of sugar. It's a thought. I learn something about the workings of teams, the fact that riders on a team frequently work as 'domestiques' carrying water or handing over their bikes at the expense of their own race if the team leader requires it. I enjoy the book for the celebration of sport and, almost, the madness and intensity of it, the joy of working singlemindedly to attain such a feat, the pleasure of training over long distances and shaping the body so that it can perform on demand. It reinforces my own belief that it is the slogging weeks that make all the difference. The final chapter offers some reflections on the meditative qualities of long distance training when combined with the need to balance, make split decisions as is required in cycling. Studies have shown that the brain changes are comparable to monks meditating. I loved best of all, the descriptions of some of the races, particularly the more arduous hill climbs, in which Strickland is good at capturing the effort that goes into the event. He recognises the demands made, and enthusiasm required, in those who are there just to finish. Something in these moments touch a chord in my own spirit. Consequently, I have found myself since looking out for fictional or autobiographical books on distance running and have managed to order a few. There are quite a number out there, more on that anon. Who knows where this might lead?
The second book I read was inspired by the recent drive accross America. We all have classics that have eluded us, guilty secrets if you like. I'm talking about novels that we know about, are cultural reference points, even if we never actually read them. For some time, I had intended to read Jack Kerouac's On the Road, a 1950s novel about the beat generation, seeking authenticity, back to roots, a reaction to WW II, the atom bomb and so on. It is a strange book, not compelling by plot, but the seeking, pilgrimage, angst tone gets to you. The vulnerability and madness is apparent. It evokes the chaos of the period, drug-fuelled and so on. You can also see how it inspired the road movies such as Thelma and Louise, probably seminal to that genre, but I am not overly confident of that fact (and am not going to pause to check). I am intrigued by connections to much, much earlier texts and wonder are these just images and icons that have been unconsciously absorbed through generations or is this guy self-consciously using them? Music is everywhere in the novel, used to key significant moments. I presume this has been studied to death by now. I was glad to read it. And Etty, you need to take a bow. Your writing inspired me to read something else. Now, I consider that a result!
Just for interest sake, my current novel is William Boyd's Armadillo, recommended to me by a colleague. It's a great read with a plot that lures but it's stylish too.
That's it folks. I have a date with a fourteenth-century poet ... and, now that I think about it, another with a twenty-first century poet on Saturday evening (nod to Dad).
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Just do it
I think that I should write this before I go home, lest my blog turn into a rambling, ongoing, examination of conscience at day's end as recommended by the philosophers and mystics. I have no quibble with Socrates statement that the unexamined life is not worth living, but I am not sure it is worth reading... unedited.
It took me awhile to find my rhythm this morning. I even strolled out the back avenue, lingered a bit in the glorious sunshine to see if I could find the 'switch' which makes it all a bit more natural. I didn't find that 'click', so decided to go for the 'jump start' approach, ie. just move your legs in a running motion and see what happens. I have learned this from the task of writing essays as a student. (To clarify, the discipline required for writing is to just sit at the desk and begin to write out ideas as they are in my head; moving my legs in a running motion does not help with writing at all!) I tend to want to wait for the inspired moments in life and, really, I am learning inspiration is an infrequent visitor. Sometimes, you just got to do it .. awkward, jerky, ungainly, lumbering, slow and against the grain as it may be. And before you know it, I'm moving along happily enough. The running got smoother and I settled into it.
I did the second shorter run (4m) today instead of the middle-distance run (7m) because I took my yoga class last evening in lieu of the missed Monday class. The yoga was great fun, but intense. I left class well stretched but knowing that I would be tired in the morning, hence, the decision to do the shorter run.
That was a wise decision. I was tired - jagged, spiky tired from too litttle sleep. All my own fault, of course. I rang Etty when I came in, dying to get the low-down on how they were getting on and we had a mighty chat ... giggle too ... about the adventures of finding yourself in a completely unknown spot. I'll let her do the talking (writing) but they seem to be doing fine within the obvious challenges such a move brings. The chat was worth it, I still got my run in, my work done and I managed to be amiable when required (only when required). I will just have to go to bed earlier tonight. I remind myself that too is part of the discipline of training.
I am facing a 15-mile run on Saturday. I only did this once before (Killarney maxi-marathon) and a good stretch of that had a lovely gradual downhill, right at that point of a long run where all engines are fired up and you still have tonnes of energy left. It was like running on the wind. I have no idea what I look like, but it felt gracefull (sic). Despite that experience, I think that I have built up a certain anxiety on account of the less-than-perfect training weeks, especially the lack of long runs. Anxiety tends to be a constant companion, I'm afraid ... but enough. We are heading into examination of conscience territory again.
It took me awhile to find my rhythm this morning. I even strolled out the back avenue, lingered a bit in the glorious sunshine to see if I could find the 'switch' which makes it all a bit more natural. I didn't find that 'click', so decided to go for the 'jump start' approach, ie. just move your legs in a running motion and see what happens. I have learned this from the task of writing essays as a student. (To clarify, the discipline required for writing is to just sit at the desk and begin to write out ideas as they are in my head; moving my legs in a running motion does not help with writing at all!) I tend to want to wait for the inspired moments in life and, really, I am learning inspiration is an infrequent visitor. Sometimes, you just got to do it .. awkward, jerky, ungainly, lumbering, slow and against the grain as it may be. And before you know it, I'm moving along happily enough. The running got smoother and I settled into it.
I did the second shorter run (4m) today instead of the middle-distance run (7m) because I took my yoga class last evening in lieu of the missed Monday class. The yoga was great fun, but intense. I left class well stretched but knowing that I would be tired in the morning, hence, the decision to do the shorter run.
That was a wise decision. I was tired - jagged, spiky tired from too litttle sleep. All my own fault, of course. I rang Etty when I came in, dying to get the low-down on how they were getting on and we had a mighty chat ... giggle too ... about the adventures of finding yourself in a completely unknown spot. I'll let her do the talking (writing) but they seem to be doing fine within the obvious challenges such a move brings. The chat was worth it, I still got my run in, my work done and I managed to be amiable when required (only when required). I will just have to go to bed earlier tonight. I remind myself that too is part of the discipline of training.
I am facing a 15-mile run on Saturday. I only did this once before (Killarney maxi-marathon) and a good stretch of that had a lovely gradual downhill, right at that point of a long run where all engines are fired up and you still have tonnes of energy left. It was like running on the wind. I have no idea what I look like, but it felt gracefull (sic). Despite that experience, I think that I have built up a certain anxiety on account of the less-than-perfect training weeks, especially the lack of long runs. Anxiety tends to be a constant companion, I'm afraid ... but enough. We are heading into examination of conscience territory again.
Monday, March 21, 2011
T-shirts
I think this might be a somewhat 'bitty' post, but we will see how it goes.
First of all, thanks to those who texted or left messages on facebook or here to welcome back the blog. Let me say again, that both of us are surprised but appreciative of the support shown for our venture. Speaking for myself, it is really helping with the commitment to training (despite the ragged nature of the last two weeks) knowing that I must answer, so to speak, to you guys. It is also strangely pleasurable to talk/write about running. A friend, who completed the marathon some years ago, said to me recently that while he was running he could have talked endlessly about it, even to the point of boring himself. He is no longer running, at least to that extent; and I think he may have been giving me a gentle hint to ... well, shall we say, desist!
Next, I would like to thank customprint.ie whose two t-shirts I picked up this morning. They are fab! I look forward to wearing them. As coincidence would have it, customprint.ie were on Ireland AM this morning advertising some of the products they can do for special occasions like Mother's Day (alerted to this because otherwise I would not have seen it) and so, I have put up the link under Sponsors.
Speaking of sponsorship, the mycharity.ie link is nearly ready, I am told. It is only 11 weeks to the event ... to the June Bank Holiday folks, (the start of Summer) so I am keen to get that side of things flowing too.
Other than that, all is well. I have not yet had a proper chat with Etty to know how they are settling in. In fact, I have not spoken to my mother or father, for that matter, since my return. Yet, I have been on Facebook quite a bit, even instant messaged UAE brother! How odd is that!? It has just dawned on me ... apologies to both. I have the strangest most familiar feeling of running after myself again (no pun intended) despite a well-ordered start to the day and the fact that it is only Monday. It all went really until the point that I could not get into my Yoga class this evening, scheduled for 7. I'm not sure what happened, but I think that the doorbell was not working and I was about 2 minutes late (literally, honestly) and normally the teacher is most accommodating. I came home, discomfited and disorientated. I was keen to get photos of the t-shirts up and out there (and to forward holiday shots to my fellow travellers who forgot their cameras or ran out of battery) so I sat down to the computer and then I forgot time, messing on Facebook! And here I am blogging when I should be sleeping and so it goes, the domino effect.
Anyway, more positively, I did get in my run this morning. The short run is now increased to 4 miles, about an extra 9 or 10 minutes and it seemly means running past Mount Anville School to turn left onto South Avenue instead. This still brings me to Deer Park, but more circuitously. A robin and a thrush came out to welcome me back. The seagulls were also about, pretending not to notice, but I know they had their beady eyes on me too! Spring sprung over the past week. The cherry blossom, forsythia(?), willow trees, not to mention the Daffodils and tulips were all on show. People are losing their winter scarves and woolly hats too. It was mild, an easy return from the last few sunny days in Spain. Here I did not feel milky white, but a bit more tanned than my surrounding Irish compatriots. I enjoyed that, I admit it. Although, I was a bit embarrassed at work. I do not have the 'I-am-working-myself-to-death look'. (Some of this is 'tongue in cheek', you understand.) I enjoyed my run, although my legs grumbled a bit, enough to make me worry about actually running a marathon. Hopefully, they will be rejoicing in another day or two. My time was ok too, I was just over the 6minutes per kilometre.
I did speak to Etty before I left on Thursday the 10th and was struck by their aloneness in moving, and particularly Etty's energy levels, so it was good to read of the neighbourly welcome in her post. As she spoke, I was reminded of childhood cinecamera images of our move from Silverdale to Ballinlough when I was 4. Uncles Murty and Seán, Granny and Granda P are all busily helping us. There's a shot of Café Java brother and myself running in and out carrying little things and Etty is the bump in my Mother's tummy. Mam and Dad are little more than 'young ones' themselves. But these are the images that came to mind as Etty and I spoke quickly the night before their actual move into the house. I have visited her on previous Spring breaks. This year, we had Spain booked before we knew of the Boston move. Still, I was more than a little conflicted as I set off in the opposite direction. That said, while away, and chatting and planning as you do, we spoke frequently of our hope to get to Boston for this coming Christmas. We both thought of it coming through Dublin airport too on Sunday ... probably our next trip together. I have also begun to play around with lastminute deals. Who knows, I might get lucky?
I'll stop now, although I do want to write more, not least about my reading over the last week. But, I must sleep now.
Again, oíche mhaith, codladh sámh!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
The rain in Spain
Well, Etty, all I can say is that the harmony between us extends to the weather. Let me add, the rain in Spain does not stay mainly in the plain.
We arrived on Friday. The grey sky stayed with us, with occasional flashes of blue, until Wednesday morning. From there on, a cool wind worked hard at removing the clouds so that exactly one week after our arrival (and the day of departure of the rest of the party) the sky was the azure shade one expects in the Costa del Sol and the temperatures had returned to the high teens and into the 20s (just).
Still, we had a lovely holiday and the weather probably suited, in so far as we had supporter-number-one's sister who suffers from Lupus and a nine-month-old niece (his side of the house), whom I refer to as a 'magic baby'. She (the baby that is) seems to wake smiling, wanting to coo and chat to the best of her babyish ability, play games of hide and seek or 'flying', be fed, changed (yes, I did that too), talked to and carried around and, by all accounts, she sleeps the night long. She was sunshine enough for all of us. Her Mom and Dad were with us too, obviously. So, the days were spent chatting, feeding, eating, strolling, reading visits to the pool and in awe at the rain that poured down, especially on Tuesday last when a lightning storm brought the dull weather to a spectacular climax.
Still, I got in some running. I ran approximately 8kms or 5 miles on two occasions along the promenade in Estepona. I took it nice and easy, enjoying the view which extends towards the Rock of Gibraltar and trying to ignore the bemused locals staring at my white, white legs and arms as I togged out in my Summer running gear (shorts and skimpy t-shirt). The locals were still dressed in their Winter boots and coats; I felt somewhat naked, but managed to continue on bravely. Each to their own, I say. I also walked the beach 5 or 6 mornings, with no.1 supporter, for approximately two hours over a distance of, maybe, 9kms each time. There is a lovely beach from the apartment that extends along the Coast. We work our away along - beach walking demands more from the legs - pausing for a coffee some mornings in the one Café open at this time of the year and return the way we came. It is all very leisurely.
I tried to eat healthily, but did not always succeed! I was relatively moderate in my drinking, partly because a recent phenomenon in my life is the tendency towards Spring Hay Fever and I was under enough pressure with that. In Spain this Spring (despite the damp weather) and in Pine Top four years ago, I suffered more than I usually do at home, which is often nothing more than a mild tickle of the palate and nose. The worst was my visit to Arizona in 2007 because, apparently, the late and sudden arrival of the Spring sunshine caused a lot of pollen to be released at the one time. Everyone was talking about it. If you didn't suffer from Hay Fever yourself, someone belonging to you did. Etty's husband and I were a duet of sneezing. One afternoon, that year, I went to SafeWay to pick up some anti-histamines and the shelves were empty! My sneezing and itchiness in Spain this year was nothing compared to the smothering sensation I experienced in Pine Top in 2007. Still, by Monday of this week, I had cause to go in search of some relief before I wore out from sneezing or tore the roof of my mouth becase of the itch. Anti-histamines, regardless of their non-drowsy promises, have the effect of making me sleepy, which I was anyway. Undoubtedly, the running of the previous few weeks had taken its toll. Everytime I sat down for the first half of the week, I fell asleep. I also slept long and soundly at night. It is hard not to with the sound of the waves lapping on the shore just outside the window. This is the benefit of holidays, of course, a little catch-up time.
Now, I am in my bed, work clothes packed in my sports bag, running gear all laid out. My mind is still somewhere between Ireland and Spain, hovering nostalgically over a pleasant break but also looking forward and starting to rehearse the next few weeks .. work and running and all.
Good night friends, sweet dreams wherever you are.
We arrived on Friday. The grey sky stayed with us, with occasional flashes of blue, until Wednesday morning. From there on, a cool wind worked hard at removing the clouds so that exactly one week after our arrival (and the day of departure of the rest of the party) the sky was the azure shade one expects in the Costa del Sol and the temperatures had returned to the high teens and into the 20s (just).
Still, we had a lovely holiday and the weather probably suited, in so far as we had supporter-number-one's sister who suffers from Lupus and a nine-month-old niece (his side of the house), whom I refer to as a 'magic baby'. She (the baby that is) seems to wake smiling, wanting to coo and chat to the best of her babyish ability, play games of hide and seek or 'flying', be fed, changed (yes, I did that too), talked to and carried around and, by all accounts, she sleeps the night long. She was sunshine enough for all of us. Her Mom and Dad were with us too, obviously. So, the days were spent chatting, feeding, eating, strolling, reading visits to the pool and in awe at the rain that poured down, especially on Tuesday last when a lightning storm brought the dull weather to a spectacular climax.
Still, I got in some running. I ran approximately 8kms or 5 miles on two occasions along the promenade in Estepona. I took it nice and easy, enjoying the view which extends towards the Rock of Gibraltar and trying to ignore the bemused locals staring at my white, white legs and arms as I togged out in my Summer running gear (shorts and skimpy t-shirt). The locals were still dressed in their Winter boots and coats; I felt somewhat naked, but managed to continue on bravely. Each to their own, I say. I also walked the beach 5 or 6 mornings, with no.1 supporter, for approximately two hours over a distance of, maybe, 9kms each time. There is a lovely beach from the apartment that extends along the Coast. We work our away along - beach walking demands more from the legs - pausing for a coffee some mornings in the one Café open at this time of the year and return the way we came. It is all very leisurely.
I tried to eat healthily, but did not always succeed! I was relatively moderate in my drinking, partly because a recent phenomenon in my life is the tendency towards Spring Hay Fever and I was under enough pressure with that. In Spain this Spring (despite the damp weather) and in Pine Top four years ago, I suffered more than I usually do at home, which is often nothing more than a mild tickle of the palate and nose. The worst was my visit to Arizona in 2007 because, apparently, the late and sudden arrival of the Spring sunshine caused a lot of pollen to be released at the one time. Everyone was talking about it. If you didn't suffer from Hay Fever yourself, someone belonging to you did. Etty's husband and I were a duet of sneezing. One afternoon, that year, I went to SafeWay to pick up some anti-histamines and the shelves were empty! My sneezing and itchiness in Spain this year was nothing compared to the smothering sensation I experienced in Pine Top in 2007. Still, by Monday of this week, I had cause to go in search of some relief before I wore out from sneezing or tore the roof of my mouth becase of the itch. Anti-histamines, regardless of their non-drowsy promises, have the effect of making me sleepy, which I was anyway. Undoubtedly, the running of the previous few weeks had taken its toll. Everytime I sat down for the first half of the week, I fell asleep. I also slept long and soundly at night. It is hard not to with the sound of the waves lapping on the shore just outside the window. This is the benefit of holidays, of course, a little catch-up time.
Now, I am in my bed, work clothes packed in my sports bag, running gear all laid out. My mind is still somewhere between Ireland and Spain, hovering nostalgically over a pleasant break but also looking forward and starting to rehearse the next few weeks .. work and running and all.
Good night friends, sweet dreams wherever you are.
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